Russian Roulette
by Valkerie
Summary: Russia commits suicide.  America feels responsible.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's note:**

**M'kay... so I know this is really short, but this is just the prologue. Anyways, next chapter will be everyone's favorite hero, America.  
**

Russia smiled. It hurt to smile, the muscles around his mouth ached with tension. But he couldn't stop. There was this crazy, wild, terrified laughter in his head, and it hurt so much he had to grin. His eyes flashed violet and his teeth gleamed cold white in the chiaroscuro of his parlor room. He picked up the gun.

The walls were covered with peeling, faded paper. Russia remembered when this room had always been full of people: his sisters, the Baltics. He had never been alone, then. But now? Now no one ever even came to see him. He might as well be dead.

He threw back his head as a sharp howl of laughter ripped from his mouth. He might as well be dead! The echoes of his insane cackle reverberated around the room, turning into one word and filling his head, pushing out from behind his eyes, wetting his cheeks. _Dead, dead, dead, dead, dead! Dead!_ He shut his eyes and grinned as he spun the barrel. It whirred, and his chest tightened in anticipation. He cocked the hammer and shoved the muzzle of the gun into his temple.

_Click._

_Click._

_Click._

_Click._

_BANG!_


	2. Chapter 2

**Ack, okay, this one's really short, too. The next chapter will be a flashback, and hopefully, longer.**

**(Also, you're completely free to tell me I suck.)  
**

_No._ America felt his legs give way, felt himself crumple to the ground. His cell phone skittered across the tile, but he made no move to retrieve it. He could hear Lithuania on the other end, yelling at him, but he didn't care.

_No!_ The dirty, spiteful son of a bitch! How could Russia have done this? What had ripped him apart so badly that he could have- America couldn't even say it in his mind. Hadn't Russia known what it would do to America? _No. He didn't. you never told him, you fucking bastard! _America ripped Texas off his face and flung it across the room and covered his face with his hands. Lithuania had hung up a long time ago, but the phone started ringing again. America's national anthem beat itself into his brain as he cried.

Hours later, everyone had stopped calling. America's face was pale and drawn; his eyes were red and sunken. His chest hurt like someone had crushed it and pulled out his heart. He lay sprawled on the kitchen floor, hair disheveled and chest heaving, by turns screwing his eyes shut and staring at the ceiling. He imagined Russia with a gun in his black-gloved hand. He imagined never seeing that childish smile again. Tears leaked from his eyes. _Why?_

He knew why. And maybe he could have saved him. Could have at least made more of an effort to be his friend. But America hadn't said a word. He had been too afraid of rejection.

Why? Finally, finally, America had fallen in love, and he'd waited to long to speak up, and now- _And now he's gone. Forever._


	3. Chapter 3

**Wow... This is the third really short chapter... I suck... ahehehe... yeah... *hides***

**So this is a flashback to the Battle of Narva, which took place November 19, 1700. A Russian force fought with Swedish soldiers. There was an insane blizzard, which the Swedes used to their advantage. the Swedes won and the Russians were driven back. Charles was the ruler of Sweden. Peter was the czar of Russia.**

_Russia, November 19, 1700. Battle of Narva. Peter the Great._

Russia put his hand to his cheek. A shallow cut stretched from his right ear to the corner of his mouth. A deeper cut split his bottom lip and chin. At the moment he was bandaging his neck.

It was freezing. The battle had been a disaster. Russia felt his throat suddenly tighten, and a sob made its escape. He held his breath. No one must hear him cry. Slowly letting it out, he tied the bandage and picked up his scarf. He wound it around his neck and sighed. His breath crystallized in the below-freezing air.

_We're not going to make it._ What if they didn't? What if Peter lost? Not just this battle, but everything? What if Narva was a foreshadowing of the future? What if Russia himself didn't make it? What would his people do? Who would take over his lands? _You don't have to put yourself through all this worry. It will be easy to make it stop. _His hand in its glove fingered the sword at his side. It wouldn't be so difficult.

_No! You can't think like that, you bastard! _He clenched his fist and brought it to his chest._ You have people to live for. _ He stood and motioned for an attendant.

"I need to speak with the czar." He said. The attendant bowed and left.

Russia reached behind and grabbed a stack of papers. He unfurled them and began to pick out the points he would need to discuss with Peter. They would find a way to win this war. His hand found its way to his sword again. "Not yet," he whispered. _Not yet._


	4. Chapter 4

Lithuania sat down heavily and picked up the remote. _This is a disaster. _He pushed the power button and watched as the T.V. screen lit up. A petite woman with brown hair came into focus. She was holding a microphone and her brows were furrowed. Lithuania turned up the volume and watched as she gave the report:

"The vast stretch of land that used to be Russia is in turmoil. All across the once-country, citizens are rioting, gathering in the streets and squares. Several fires and acts of vandalism and violence have already been reported in Moscow, as well as other cities. Reports from major retailers indicate that citizens are stocking up on items such as food and water, as well as flashlights and candles. An enormous freak blizzard has already gripped the north, and is swiftly moving south, staying within Russia's borders.

"Worldwide, powers are concerned regarding the economy, the possible annexation of Russia, and the people. All throughout the country, people are panicking. All across the world, we ask the question, why? Stay tuned as England weighs in."

The reporter was replaced with a soap ad, and Lithuania covered his eyes with his hand. _This is a disaster. Why the hell would he do this? What happened?_ He gritted his teeth and sighed, cursing the rising ache in his skull. He lifted his head again when England appeared on the screen, obviously communicating via video chat.

"I have no idea why he would do something like this. I don't know if he was drunk, if he was on something -an autopsy is under way, I'm sure we'll know soon. Maybe he was just... insane. Maybe he... I don't know. I thought I was getting to know him better, but I just don't know."

The reporter was back, still frowning. "Comments from other countries will be here soon." Someone ran up to her and handed her a piece of paper, which she held in her free hand and read off of. "Attempts to reach America have been met with no response."

Lithuania cursed, wondering what reason America could possibly have for not answering. What was so important that it kept him away from his cell phone? The country was normally so immersed in all of his technology that he always had his phone with him, along with about a dozen other gadgets. He was always posting status updates on some social network or another. He was almost as bad as Japan. But now? Now he just disappeared off the face of the earth?

_Idiot!_ Lithuania thought. He briefly considered once again attempting to reach the nation, but discarded the idea almost immediately. If America hadn't answered already, there was no telling when he would be available. He turned his attention back to the television, which was showing a video of a field of sunflowers. The tall, strong stalks were bent almost parallel to the ground, fighting a strong wind that carried leaves and dirt and bits of grass high into the air. On the distant horizon was visible a dark grey mass: the snowstorm. At the edges, the clouds had been whipped into trailing spirals by the violently turbulent winds.

The video switched to a woman with a microphone being held to her mouth. Even without the Lithuanian subtitles that appeared to translate, Lithuania could understand the rapid Russian that the woman spoke. Her hair and shawl looked like they were being ripped from her by the wind. She was old; pale and wrinkled, but her dark eyes shone from behind the flesh that hung loose on her high cheekbones. Large tears threatened to spill. She was saying, "I love this country. I love my home. My family have lived here for generations. Now I don't know what to do. I don't know if our crops will grow. My grandchildren love the sunflowers that grow in our fields, but now the stalks are snapping in the winds. The dust is choking us. The snow is coming, and we don't know what to do. We get plenty of snow, but we've never seen a storm like this. If we leave, we might be caught. If we stay, we may not have enough food. We didn't even have a few days to prepare. We don't know what to do."

Lithuania flipped the T.V. off in frustration. Damn it! It was bad enough that Russia was dead, even Lithuania thought so. But Russia had millions of citizens, citizens who had grown up in and loved their country with all of their hearts. How could he do this to them? Most of them would have died to protect him, and here he'd gone and shot himself in the head. What kind of payment was that for their gratitude?

The brunette suddenly brought his hands up to cover his face. An ache rose in his chest, and he found it difficult to breathe. He had suffered his share of abuse at Russia's hands, but he was Russia's ex. Sure, he was with Poland now, but that didn't mean that he hated Russia. He still cared enough to feel pain at the man's abrubt end. Thinking of Poland, he felt his despair grow even deeper. Was it bad that he was thinking of Russia? That he still cared, if only a little? No, he decided. It was natural.

He raised his head, closing his eyes against the tears that threatened. He wished Feliks were here. The ache in his chest had changed from sorrow for Russia, to a painful longing for his lover. Poland often seemed to be wrapped up in his own little world, but Lithuania knew how much the blond really cared. _Cares for me. He'll come if I ask him to._ America wouldn't answer his phone, but Poland would. And he'd come over and make Lithuania forget about the weirdness that had just happened, and they could focus on what to do with Russia's poeple, since they were very close to the border of the former country.

Lithuania picked up the phone, and was about to dial Poland's number, when all of a sudden, it rang, startling the brunette. He pushed the Talk button and pressed the phone to his ear, not bothering to check the caller I.D. He didn't need to. Not many people had his cell phone number. "Sveiki?" he asked.

There was a second of silence, and then, "Hello?" America's hoarse rasp echoed hollowly out of the reciever.


End file.
